


Silence

by levicas



Series: Supernatural Prompts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levicas/pseuds/levicas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Grief</p><p>Dean hasn't said a word since his mother died, and he doesn't ever plan to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

It'd been thirty days since Mary Winchester burned on the roof of her son's nursery. A month, a whole month, had passed but it seemed so much shorter. Dean didn't notice the time, the days just kind of blurred into each other in a very unholy fashion.

Dean saw her. He heard Dad scream at him to run. Take Sammy and run. Protect Sammy. Always protect Sammy. He didn't know how much that motto would mean to him one day. Perhaps if Mommy was still alive, it would never have been his job in the first place. 

Whenever he closed his eyes Dean saw her, either smiling or burning. Somehow smiling hurt more, it tore his chest open with a kind of pain he couldn't explain. She would never smile at him again. Dean would go his entire life without seeing that smile. He would go his entire life without hearing the sweet sound of her voice singing Hey Jude before he went to sleep. He'd never hear her laugh again, the laugh that made him laugh along with her whenever he was sad. He was always sad. 

Daddy told Dean that Mommy was in Heaven, and that he was going to find out why the Angels took her there so early. That was when Dean decided he didn't much like the Angels. Mommy said they were good, but if they were why would they steal her? Stealing was wrong. 

Dean didn't reply. He didn't reply to anything Daddy said. He couldn't, because Mommy was dead and she wasn't here to fix it anymore.

For a four year old he quickly grasped the concept of _dead_. 

He just sat. In the Impala, in a motel room, wherever Daddy had left him. He stopped crying around day twelve, still never saying a word. Never again, he didn't want to speak again.

Sometimes he'd open his mouth to shout _where has she gone?_ but a painful lump would rise in his throat and he'd swallow it back down. Daddy would see the tears well in his eyes and pull him close to his chest, begging him to speak, and assuring him that in the end it would all be okay.

It was day fifty two by the time Dean started to communicate again. And even then it was just through hand gestures and eye contact. Dean had the ability to say a thousand words with just his facial expressions, he was an open book. But one which kept snapping shut on Daddy's hand.

Sammy never slept, he didn't like the change in routine. One second everything was normal and the next he was being carted around the country moving from motel to motel while Daddy exchanged information with those people called hunters. Dean didn't like the hunters, when they spoke to him with judgemental, sympathetic glances he'd just hide his face and hold Sammy closer to his body.

Dean didn't speak but he could hear. He heard everything. Everything they said. He learnt the word for what had happened to Mommy whilst listening to them speak - murder. He wouldn't learn it's meaning until he was seven. 

He heard Daddy's daily routine of begging him to eat, to sleep, to speak. Nothing worked. Dean wasn't sure he could speak even if he wanted to.

He would speak when Mommy was better. 

But she never would be. 

So Dean would never speak.

Simple.

It was Day One Hundred and Three when Dean met Bobby. He decided he liked him more than the several other people he'd been forced to stay with. Bobby was funny and clever, and Dean liked his beard. 

It was with Bobby that Dean first cracked a smile - when the old man hadn't been looking where he was going and tripped into a table, spilling his cider everywhere and yelling out "Balls!"

Dean had forgotten how to smile.

One day - one hundred and fourteen - Bobby sat Dean on his knee and spoke to him. It was different than when Daddy spoke to him. Daddy got frustrated easily and would quickly give up on trying to get through to him. Other days he'd try bribing him with ice cream or a later bed time. Most of the time he'd just cry with him and whisper "speak to me Dead, baby, please," repeatedly.

Bobby was different. Bobby explained things. Dean was pretty certain that Bobby knew everything. He wished he could be as smart as Bobby.

"Why don't you speak, Deano?" Bobby had said. Dean just looked at him, eyes too full of sadness for any four year old to handle. "Is it because of your Momma?"

Dean nodded. 

"Do you want her to come home?"

Dean just nestled his face in Bobby's shirt. _Yes!_ He wanted to scream it, bang his fists and throw a tantrum and cry and beg the Angels to bring Mommy back to him. 

"She can't," Bobby said, not harshly, just matter-of-fact. If Bobby didn't know how to bring her back, then it wasn't possible. "She's with the Angels."

Dean looked up to the sky, well - the ceiling, and pointed. Mommy always said Angels were watching over him, maybe they'd keep doing that now that she was with them.

Maybe she was watching him, too.

"Yes, kiddo," Bobby said, carding a hand through Dean's fluffy hair. 

Three weeks later Bobby took Dean to the park. It was a sunny day. Mommy loved sunny days. They used to go out on weekends and lie on the grass and look for shapes in the clouds. He stared at the sky, there were no clouds at all today. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. It was almost as if the sky, the Angels, had been mourning since the day Mommy died. Now it was clear. If he looked hard enough he could have sworn he saw them. They were tiny little figures way up in the sky, he wasn't even sure they were there, but he could see Mommy with them. And she was smiling again, and laughing. Her hair was the sun and the blue dress she wore at on Dean's birthday was the sky. 

It made Dean smile. 

But was she really there? Who better to ask than the man sitting beside him. Bobby knew everything after all.

Dean sat up and chimed, clear as a bell: "Is Mommy watching over me?"


End file.
